


Inevitable

by Taamar



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Episode: s01e01 Everything Changes, Episode: s02e12 Fragments, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5705236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taamar/pseuds/Taamar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his girlfriend is killed by Cybermen, Ianto Jones has no intention of returning to Torchwood. Once he returns to Cardiff and meets Captain Jack Harkness, it’s inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** **CHAPTER 1** **

 

Midnight. Bute Park. Not a great place to be unless you are a rent boy, or looking for one, but Ianto Jones has nowhere else to go. UNIT kept him for several days after the battle, then turned him loose, but he can’t bring himself to go back to the flat. Not without Lisa, not yet. Someday he’ll have to go back, to box her things and try to remember her drinking from this cup rather than screaming as the knives cut into her, or twirling in that dress, rather than bleeding out and dying in his arms. When the soldiers came in to clear the victims and assess the damage, they found him there sticky with blood and half crazed, holding Lisa and rocking back and forth calling her name. They took him under observation, but once they determined that there was nothing wrong with him but burns, bruises, and overwhelming grief, they sent him on his way with no help beyond a prescription for narcotics and the reminder that he should call them if he ‘experiences any after effects’.

Unwilling to go to his flat in London, he has come back to Cardiff purely on instinct, forgetting that he hasn’t had a home here in years, and that he can hardly just drop in at his sister’s place. She might not even know he survived. He’ll have to call her eventually, yes, but that conversation will be a dramatic flurry of relief and accusations, and he can’t face it just yet. So here he is, sitting on a park bench wishing he had remembered to take the painkillers UNIT gave him before they released him that morning. It’s not just the physical pain they’d numb.

Lost in thought, he is startled to hear a struggle coming from a nearby wooded area. Expecting to find a whore and a punter quibbling over money, he investigates nonetheless, hoping for a distraction from his whirring mind. He arrives on scene just in time to see a tall, leathery creature lunge at a man. Within seconds, Ianto is grabbing a nearby fallen branch to join the fray. THUNK! The jolt of the branch hitting the creature is the most satisfying thing he’s felt in __days__ , so he keeps swinging even as the thing turns its attention to him, crashing into him and going for his throat. Maybe it will give the other man a chance to escape, he thinks, and while Ianto isn’t actively seeking his end, he’s not going to put much effort into avoiding it. He laughs at the irony of dying in Cardiff not a week after surviving Cybermen and Daleks.

Rather than fleeing, the other man approaches the distracted creature from behind. He yanks it away from Ianto, wrestles it to the ground, sprays it in the face, then whips a sack over its head, all in one smooth motion. He jabs it with a hypodermic, and the beast stops struggling. Ianto leans against a tree for a moment to catch his breath. He aches all over, even more than he did before, but his heart is beating fast and his blood is rushing, and he finds that having actually __done__ something makes him feel a little better.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No, thank you,” the man replies. He looks Ianto up and down, and Ianto wishes he were wearing something other than the track suit UNIT gave him to replace his bloodied clothes from the battle; despite not caring what this man thinks of him, he feels more comfortable in his armor. “And you are?” the man asks.

“Jones,” he says, automatically giving his surname, as he always had at work. Then he remembers he isn’t a Torchwood employee any longer. “Uh, Ianto. Ianto Jones. “

“Nice to meet you. You all right?”

Ianto shrugs. “A little battered, I’ll heal. You?”

“Had worse from shaving,” says the man as he wipes a spot of blood from his throat. The skin under is unblemished; it must have been superficial.

Suddenly, Ianto is struck by a memory. “Looked like a Weevil to me,” he says without thinking.

The man’s face goes still. After slightly too long a pause, he replies, “I have no idea what you’re talking about." His tone indicates that the conversation is over. He hefts the Weevil to his shoulder despite Ianto knowing that it must weight upward of twelve stone. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks for the assistance.”

“Yeah.”

The man walks away, his coat swishing behind him. Ianto might have admired it if he weren’t too worn out to care.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning finds him once more in the park with a cup of take-away coffee that he will eventually drink but is currently on the bench beside him being ignored. He desperately needs the caffeine, but the only place nearby makes a sour brew, and he’s been left with the option of choking it down as-is or adding enough sugar to make it sickeningly sweet. He’s starting to second guess his decision to leave it black; he hasn’t eaten much since the Battle, and he’s not sure how the acid of this drink will feel in his empty stomach. He doesn’t think he can go back to London yet, but he’ll have to get __some__ of the things from the flat, if only his clothes and his coffee supplies and equipment.

While he takes mental inventory of which things he wants to keep and which he’d rather never see again, a man approaches. The man from last night, in fact, and now that he sees him in daylight he can’t imagine how he didn’t recognize him the night before: Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood Cardiff. Shit. He was hoping to stay off their radar, but he admits that joining fights with monsters in the middle of the night may not have been a good way to do that.

The man sits on the bench next to him. “Ianto Jones, Torchwood London,” he says.

“Not anymore.”

“And what brings you to Cardiff?”

Ianto’s not sure how to answer the question. He finally settles on the obvious, “I’m Welsh.”

Captain Harkness frowns a bit at the evasion. “Both August 19th, nineteen eighty-three. Able student but not exceptional, one minor conviction for shoplifting in your teens. Number of temporary jobs, mainly a drifter, until two years ago you joined the Torchwood Institute in London. Junior researcher. Girlfriend, Lisa Hallett—“

“Deceased.” Ianto says quietly. “Not many made it out.”

“I’m sorry,” the captain responds sincerely. The silence stretches uncomfortably, until Ianto realizes that the other man is eyeing his untouched coffee and offers it to him, rolling his eyes a bit when Harkness winces at the taste.

“I know,” he says while Harkness recovers. “That’s why I wasn’t drinking it. I make better coffee myself, but all my things are still in London.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to do better than this. Are you relocating then?”

“For a while, perhaps. I haven’t decided.”

“There’s no place for you here. Torchwood Three, I mean.”

Ianto hadn’t even considered that. “I’m done with Torchwood,” he snaps. “After what happened? Your whole organization can go straight to Hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Harkness repeats. “We cut all ties with One. I had no idea what was happening there until it was too late.”

“Yeah, I saw a couple of yours scavenging while UNIT cleaned up. They’ve offered us all jobs, you know. UNIT. Not like it’s difficult for an organization that size to absorb the fifteen out of twenty-seven who are still fit to work. Only, I’ve turned them down. After everything, it’s too much. The survivor benefit is enough to buy me some time and a quieter, less dangerous life.”

“What will you do?”

“Not your problem, is it?” Ianto says dismissively.

Captain Harkness takes the hint, sets the vile coffee back on the bench, and stands. “Sorry to bother you,” he offers, then walks away.

The nerve, Ianto thinks, suggesting that Ianto was here after a job. He’s still not sure what he’ll do, which is part of the reason he didn’t answer the question– the other being that it truly isn’t anyone’s business– but he was telling the truth when he said he has plenty of time to think about it. Maybe he’ll open a coffee shop. Maybe go back to uni– he’s only twenty-three. Maybe a book shop. But not Torchwood. He hopes he never sees Captain Jack Harkness again. He pockets the card the man left on the bench nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

 

He still hurts, but things are getting better. It’s been a week since UNIT released him, the cuts and scrapes are healing, the bruises fading. The emotional trauma is taking a little longer; he still can’t bear to go to his flat and see the remnants of his life with Lisa. He tried. He went back to London, but only ended up sitting outside their building, crying. In the end, he gave the keys to a relocation company to have it packed and stored until he could sort a place to stay. While in London, he remembered the suits he left at the dry cleaner, grateful not to have to think about shopping. With his personal things being shipped, he’ll have the rest of his clothing soon enough. He did pick up a few necessities: new mobile, small cafetière and coffee, decent shoes, and a few groceries.

Now back in Cardiff, he stuffs the track suit into the washing machine at the hotel he booked himself into after his encounter with the leader of Torchwood Three. He’s still trying to decide where he wants to go from here. He dresses in a suit, figuring he’ll wander through Cardiff a bit looking at options. Nothing sounds __interesting__ , though. Despite his low position within the company, Torchwood One had been exciting. Fascinating. Always new.

The problem, and it’s what got Ianto tangled up in Torchwood to begin with, is that he can’t resist an adventure and a mystery. So when he sees a shadow against the night sky that is too large to be a bird and too quiet to be a plane, he follows it to the warehouse district. When it he’s finally close enough to see it, he recognizes it as a pterodactyl (or pteranodon, he can’t remember the difference) and knows that it’s too dangerous to leave loose. Hoping that it, like most avians, is attracted to shiny things, he reaches into his coat pocket for the bit of chocolate he’d picked up hoping it would help him feel better; Lisa had always said it was good for serotonin levels. He flashes the foil wrapper in the street light.

The beast takes the bait, following Ianto through the delivery doors and into the warehouse. When it starts to crowd him, he throws the foil-wrapped chocolate bar to the opposite corner. He laughs as she (Ianto can’t help but think of her as ‘she’) dives for it, screeching, then she’s tossing it in the air and down it goes, wrapper and all. She flaps her wings with delight and approaches him for another treat. He dodges out the door. What now? He can’t just __leave__ her there. Someone might walk in, and one of them would be hurt. Or she’ll starve, and he doesn’t think he could bear that.

He still has the card given to him by Captain Jack Harkness tucked into his pocket with his ID and bank card, and it has a phone number. He dials, entering his old access code when prompted. A familiar voice answers.

“Ianto Jones, it’s good to hear your beautiful Welsh vowels. Have you decided to ask me for a job, after all?”

Ianto rolls his eyes despite knowing the captain can’t see them. It’s second nature. “No, but there’s a pterodactyl in a warehouse in Roath. I thought you might like to come fetch her?” He can hear the captain’s chair clatter back, and the flurry of him getting ready.

“On my way. Location?”

Ianto gives it to him. While he waits, he picks up another bar of chocolate, just in case.

It’s easier than he expected to distract the pterodactyl with more chocolate while Captain Harkness grabs her by the leg to inject a sedative, until she launches herself into the air to try to shake him off. Then he’s falling, and Ianto steps to catch him, and as she falls toward them they roll to the side, laughing. Ianto feels alive. He feels Captain Harkness’– __Jack’s__ breath, his arms around him, his hardness against Ianto’s thigh, and his own body responding. Unable to stop himself, Ianto brushes his lips gently across the other man’s, shocked at how __right__ it feels.

Confused, he pushed himself to his feet. “I should go,” he says softly.

He hears the captain roll to his feet. “Report to work tomorrow morning,” Jack says as Ianto walks away.

Ianto turns to see Jack standing casually, as if he expects Ianto will accept. “I told you, I’m done with Torchwood.”

“I don’t think you are. You attacked a weevil to save someone you didn’t know; you lured a dinosaur with candy. We need you, Ianto Jones, and I think maybe you need us.” Jack holds out his hand. “Come save the world with me?”

“I… I’ll think about it.”

“Please do, as long as you need. There will always be a place for you,” he says. The look in Jack’s eye suggests that it’s not just Torchwood on offer. It’s too soon after Lisa, and Ianto’s never been interested in a man before, but there is __something__ there. He turns away and stuffs his hands in his pockets. When he thinks about it, __really__ thinks about it, he can’t imagine an ordinary life; it may not be tomorrow, but he __will__ join Torchwood Three and Captain Jack Harkness. It’s inevitable.


	2. Chapter 2

** **CHAPTER 2** **

****

7:30 AM. Roald Dahl Plass. Rather, at a café overlooking the Plass. Ianto Jones is dressed in a suit and sipping a coffee that’s significantly better than the one that horrified Jack Harkness on their second meeting. He’s here because he was told last night to report for work, but was given neither time nor location. He knows from working in Torchwood London’s archives that Three is around here somewhere, but he can’t imagine where. He sees nothing like the shiny offices of Canary Wharf, or even the run-down façade of Torchwood Two in Glasgow, and all the storefronts appear to be legitimate as far as he can see. So here Ianto waits, watching for Captain Jack Harkness to appear with his usual flair for the dramatic.

Yes, he could stand in the middle of everything, near the water tower, maybe, but that would make him look eager, and he’s not. Ianto is here because– actually, he doesn’t know why. It makes no sense at all; he was nearly killed in what the media is now calling a ‘terrorist attack’, has a faked CV appropriate to his skill set courtesy of UNIT, and a settlement large enough that he doesn’t have to work for years if he’s prudent. He doesn’t  _ _need__  a job. The smart thing to do would be to spend some time recovering, physically and emotionally, but here he is.

8 AM. He’s beginning to think he’s in the wrong place until he sees a lone figure out of the corner of his eye. Harkness? He turns to look but there’s no one there. He’s imagining things, the same way he always heard his mam whistling in the kitchen after she died; just his mind trying to construct a comforting reality. He snorts and turns back to his coffee. After a moment, he sees it again, just on the edge of his perception, but when he turns, gone. Ianto closes his eyes to think. The word ‘perception’ filters through his mind, reminding him of something he read once in the archives. He focuses carefully on the table in front of him, and this time when the man appears at the edge of his vision, he slowly  _ _slides__  his gaze, never once shifting his attention. He turns his head, eyes locked, and the man remains visible. He’s overcome it. It’s not in his head. It’s Captain Jack Harkness standing by the tower, and no one else seems to be noticing him. Perception filter, then, from the Doctor. According to records, Harkness is a former companion of the Doctor; he must have a Tardis key, and he must enjoy keeping people off balance by appearing and disappearing at will.

Ianto tries to remember everything else he’s read about the man, and realizes that that are very few hard facts amid a lot of conjecture, opinion, and outright lies. Fact: former companion, older than he looks, can’t die. Conjecture: time traveler, con man, killed previous Torchwood Three team. Opinion: obstinate, unconventional, extremely promiscuous. He’s not sure who had the nerve to add that last bit to official personnel records, but after meeting the man, Ianto suspects it’s true. He’s not sure how he feels about that; there was an undeniable attraction in the warehouse last night, but maybe everyone experiences that? Is there really something worth exploring? Because he’s not here for a job he doesn’t need, he’s here because he needs to know what it is about Jack Harkness that made him feel alive.

8:30. Captain Harkness is still standing unnoticed on the Plass, and Ianto doesn’t know what to do. He knows the mortality rate of Torchwood agents– it’s obvious when one notices that there are no employees over forty except the odd scientist or two. He also knows that he’s had two close calls (the other having been the Sycorax blood control incident) and the law of averages is not on his side. Torchwood Three will kill him if he joins them. It will be exciting and glorious and he’ll save the world and his life will  _ _mean__  something, but he’ll be dead before he ever thinks about retirement. Is it worth it? Is it worth giving up the possibility of a future? Is  _ _Jack Harkness__ , who is unbelievably handsome, possibly a slag, and takes Ianto’s breath away, worth the risk?

He watches Jack standing on the Plass until nine, when his shoulders slump and he fiddles with something on his wrist that makes him appear to sink into the pavement. When he’s completely gone, Ianto leaves the café. He needs to think.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s three weeks before Ianto sees Jack Harkness again. He’s picking up groceries after finishing his job as a security dispatcher when Harkness and two others  rush in, sweep the entire shelf of drain cleaner into a trolley, throw a stack of large bills at the cashier, dump all of it into the back of a huge SUV, and drive off, leaving all onlookers blinking in confusion. He imagines the crisis that might lead Torchwood to require large quantities of sodium hydroxide with insufficient time for a rush order of industrial quantities (sloppy not having it on hand). Either the drains are backing up, or they have a huge amount of  _ _something__  to dissolve. Remembering the sort of things that happened in the bowels of Torchwood London, Ianto isn’t sure which scenario is more horrifying. Shame they don’t have someone on staff with the foresight to stock such things for the inevitable emergencies. He absentmindedly tosses a package of Hobnobs in his trolley while he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t miss the excitement of Torchwood.  _ _Not at all__. 

Back at his flat with an uninspiring supper of Pot Noodle and biscuits, he allows himself to think about what he saw at Tesco. Captain Harkness, of course, but two others with him: a man and a woman. Both were dark haired, and about the same height. All three seemed easy with each other. It’s the kind of camaraderie he misses most; the archive department in London had been vast, but there had been only six researchers. He remembers vaguely that the Cardiff branch has a small team, as well. Ianto wonders what they’re like, these people who have chosen the notoriously short life of a field agent. Captain Harkness offered him a job, so maybe he should look them up; if nothing else, he wants to know if he can still access the off-site servers of Torchwood London.

He’s been doing a lot of things lately ‘just to see if he can’. Testing himself. He leased a flat two days after avoiding Jack Harkness on Roald Dahl Plass, having his things delivered a week later. Since then, he’s gone through them all, separating his own belongings from Lisa’s and boxing hers up. He hasn’t been able to get rid of them yet; the boxes are still stacked, neatly labeled, in the hall. He figures he’s solidly in the ‘bargaining’ stage of grief ( _ _if I get rid of her things, what will I do if there’s been a mistake and she comes home needing them?__ ), and while he knows it’s not rational, that his Lisa is  _ _gone__ , he allows himself the illusion of hope, at least until he stops feeling ill at the thought of never seeing her again. At least it’s more productive than the ‘anger’ stage, which left him with quite a lot of broken glass and crockery to clean.

He’s replaced the broken dishware, though he barely uses it. The kitchenette is spotless, which would be impressive except that Ianto only ever uses the microwave and the kettle. Most of his time at home is spent in bed sitting up with his laptop and reading everything he can find about Torchwood, aliens, and the Doctor. He’d stayed away from Torchwood’s own information until now, considering that it’s likely to be quite biased, but it’s the only place he’ll find out what he wants to know about Harkness’s team.

It’s almost shockingly easy to get into Torchwood London’s off-site virtual RAID, almost as if no one knew it existed to secure it. Once connected, he traces back to Cardiff’s mainframe to pull up the personnel files of Torchwood Cardiff, only to find them locked. Locked since long before the Battle, in fact. Locked since Captain Harkness took over from Alex Hopkins, whom he may or may not have murdered New Year’s Day 2000. But Ianto Jones is nothing if not resourceful, and while he’s not a computer wiz, he’s very good at  _ _finding__  things, and that’s really what this is. London must have had the information at some point, and even deleted and overwritten files leave behind traces.

Working through what’s left of the London archive, he shuffles through digital files until he hits pay dirt. Literally- he’s found what he was looking for as part of a budget report when Cardiff had been asked to defend its payroll expenditures. In addition to Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood Three employs three agents: Suzie Costello, Dr. Owen Harper, and Toshiko Sato. Their CVs are incomplete, though. There are pictures (it had been Harper and Costello with Harkness at the Tesco) and basic vitals, but nothing on the circumstances of their recruiting or their specialties. No annual reviews or pay grades, just bare data. Curious about his own file and what Captain Harkness might have seen, Ianto pulls it up to compare. It’s all there: family, education, psych evals, project assignments, and commentary from supervisors. He considers editing it, but it seems sort of pointless. Who would care at this late date? Anyway, Harkness has already seen it.

When Ianto looks back at the budget files, there’s nothing. Blank pages. He backtracks through the server. Where there had been folders and files and directories, there’s nothing. In the time he’s been searching elsewhere, it’s all been wiped. He finds no further information on Torchwood Three or its employees.

Sitting back, Ianto flips his laptop shut. Someone, either Sato or Costello (assuming Dr. Harper is a medical doctor), had been watching those files, waiting to see who looked for them. Now he’s been caught, possibly traced, and at some point Jack Harkness will come to see why he was looking. It’s inevitable.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Torchwood’s job to protect Cardiff from the vagaries of the Rift, but as far as Ianto is concerned, they’re doing a shit job. It’s been two months since he returned to Cardiff, and he’s encountered countless things of obvious alien origin, including a Krillitane, a Dogon eye (slipped to the black market as harmless), something slimy and fox-like that hadn’t been in Torchwood’s archives, lots of glowing trinkets, and so many Weevils that he’s starting to think he’s seeing the same half-dozen over and over. He never means to get involved, but it’s as if things can sense his previous affiliation. So far it’s cost him three jobs, maybe four after tonight.

He was fired from the security job for making ‘frivolous reports’ when he called the police to report a riot caused by hallucinogenic alien exhaust fumes. Torchwood had Retconned everyone on-scene, but the report had been logged, and no one could remember anything coming of it. After that he worked as a barista, getting himself fired when he called a customer a pretentious, self-absorbed twat. In his defense, the customer had just ordered a medium decaf cappuccino with three shots, nonfat dry half-sweet sugar-free, extra hot, no cinnamon, in a large cup, and Ianto had been up late the night before chasing __yet another__ Weevil and was irritable and achy as hell. So maybe Ianto shouldn’t blame Torchwood for that, but he does anyway. Then, working as an accountant at Chandler and Bell, he looked into suspicious movement of funds, only to uncover a crime ring run by Blowfish. He left that job on his own, not wanting to become involved after sending Captain Harkness an anonymous tip. 

Tonight, the Rift’s total inability to leave him the fuck alone took the form of a Stigorax that assaulted him in the alley behind the club where he’s been bartending since losing his job at Jubilee Pizza—also alien related. He would have Retconned Annie, the delivery girl, after he convinced the Vinvocci to go underground, but he has no supply and had to settle for getting her rat-faced (a term which makes him giggle maniacally, given his early encounter). Now she thinks they had a one-night stand and keeps ringing him. She’s cute, and she’s nice, but Ianto can’t even think about dating this soon, so he quit the job and is avoiding her calls. She deserves better than to get wrapped up in Torchwood’s nonsense, anyway.

Earlier tonight at the bar, he was taking the bottles out for recycling, so when the Stigorax brandished its claws, he did the first thing that came to mind and broke a bottle, leaving him with a weapon he kept in his left hand while he threw the remaining empties at the creature’s face with his right, hoping to disable it before it got too close. It didn’t work, and the creature got in a few deep slashes before Ianto brought it down.

Leaning against the door of his flat at last, bloodied and winded, he thinks he’s probably lost yet another job. He left right after the fight, not even going in to let them know what happened. Cleanup is Torchwood’s job, not his. They’re shit at that, too, though. Swamp gas? Freak lightning strike? Weather balloon? Wolf attack, when there haven’t been wild wolves in Wales in 300 years? How many times would people actually believe that nonsense? While Ianto’s sure he could do better, he reminds himself that it’s not his problem.

He’s a mess. His clothes are torn, he’s smeared with blood, and he smells like rubbish and rat. He’s stripping his shirt off to inspect and clean the gash on his ribs when he hears a pounding on his door. He ignores it. Not only does he not want anyone to see his injuries, it’s past midnight; anyone knocking is bound to be up to no good, and all Ianto wants is to get clean and go to sleep. He’ll worry about disposing of his clothing and finding a new job tomorrow. The thumping on his door continues, then ceases. He’s sighing in relief when it slams open. He turns toward the noise, and there standing in the doorway looking furious is Captain Jack Harkness. The Captain rushes in, gathering Ianto in his arms and whispering, “You’re safe! I was so worried, I saw the blood, and-“

It’s the last thing Ianto wants to deal with now. He’s tired and hurting, and breaking into someone’s flat is just __rude__. “Get out,” he snarls, shoving Jack away. “This is my home and I’ve not invited you. If you and your little team can’t manage to keep Cardiff free of aliens without help, you __certainly__ don’t get to break in for social hour after I’ve done your job for you. Go, and I’ll bill you for the door.”

“I came to make sure you were OK,” Jack says quietly “By the time we arrived to take care of the Stigorax, it was dead, and you were gone. As soon as we had the scene cleaned up, I came here. Good thing, from the looks of you.”

Ianto hisses as he dabs at his ribs. “It’s fine, I’m fine. I don’t need help.”

“Let me help anyway? As you said, you were injured doing my job for me. It’s the least I can do.”

Ianto shrugs. He suspects nothing he says will get rid of Captain Harkness, and he’ll probably need some help cleaning blood off his back, anyway. If his heart beats a little faster thinking of Jack touching him, he ignores it. He rinses the washcloth in cold water and hands it over.

“How did you find me?” He’s been wondering since Jack arrived. While he was concerned at first after the incident with Torchwood’s servers, no one had come looking for him. He’d assumed that was it, and that the Cardiff team would leave him be. He’s found out more about them, at least. Not through Torchwood’s own files, but through UNIT, using the login they gave him for the ‘Internal Opportunities’ job website and message board. A few well-placed comments about other __outside__ employment options gave him nearly unlimited gossip about Torchwood and MI5. Seems all the ‘secret’ agencies have trouble with appropriate discretion.

Jack looks a bit sheepish. “Toshiko grabbed your system specs when you tried to access our files. Followed you right back to those hidden London boxes- thanks for that, by the way- and has been watching ever since. You’ve moved around, used a number of networks and IPs, but always from the same laptop. Tosh won’t tell me what you’ve been doing, though. Says it’s none of my business.”

“I appreciate that. And yet, here you are.”

It’s Jack’s turn to shrug. “There was a lot of blood. I was worried.”

They fall into uncomfortable silence as Jack gently tends the slashes on Ianto’s back, Ianto trying desperately not to think about Jack’s hands on his bare skin.

“I wanted to thank you,” Jack is saying as he carefully cleans Ianto’s wounds. “Access to the Torchwood archive servers, the anonymous phone calls, Weevils, random Rift shit… you’re making a difference.”

Ianto doesn’t like where this is going. Captain Harkness’s next words clinch it.

“I still want you to work for me.”

“Sorry, still not interested.” How like Jack to have this conversation when Ianto is shirtless. It feels awkward and vulnerable, and Ianto resents him for it.

“Look, let me tell you a bit about the team and what we’re lo–“

Ianto interrupts, “Torchwood Three has four agents, including yourself. The others are Dr. Owen Harper, recruited after the death of his fiancé to an alien; Toshiko Sato, technological genius liberated from UNIT prison; and Suzie Costello– your second in command– poached from MI5.”

“So you were interested enough to look us up, then.”

“I wanted to know if I’d have to avoid you; the Torchwood I know would never have let me be.”

“Come on, give us a trial period. You know what’s out there, you want to help people, I know you do! After Canary Wharf, don’t you want to be a part of a better Torchwood?” He’s finished cleaning and drying the wounds and is slathering them with an ointment from the apparently bottomless pockets of his coat.

“It’s not my responsibility. I don’t want to work for you.”

“I’ll keep coming back.”

“No. Please leave my home, Captain Harkness.” They are at an impasse, neither willing to give. Harkness seems to think that his pretty face and charming smile can convince anyone to go along with anything. Ianto refuses to be swept up in it, no matter how pretty Jack’s mouth is. The tension in the room changes; Ianto can’t stop staring, remembering the feather-light kiss in the warehouse and the feel and scent of Jack surrounding him. Ianto is still bare from the waist up and can feel the flush on his face and neck. Jack, confident just a moment before, looks oddly hesitant.

“Ianto…” Jack steps forward. “It’s not just the job. I want—“

“STOP!”

Jack backs away. Ianto takes a breath of relief. “Thank you for your help. I think you should go now.”

Nodding his acceptance of Ianto’s dismissal, he pulls a handgun from the back of his trousers, setting it on the table by the door. “Keep this, then. For safety, if you insist on getting involved without backup. If the police question you, give them your old authorization code and my card. You had training at One, right?” Ianto nods. “Stay safe. Call if you need us.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s not good enough. I know you don’t want me to say anything, but…” Jack pulls Ianto close, settling a hand on his hip and pressing their lips together in a kiss. It’s not something he expected, but Ianto finds himself responding, pushing their bodies closer and opening his mouth with a quiet moan.

Then reality crashes back, and he pushes Jack away. “Get out,” he says, pointing at the door. “Don’t ever come here again.”

He turns his back on Jack and retreats to his room, slamming the door. He leans against it, face in hands, and sinks to the floor, wondering why he kissed Jack back, and why he enjoyed it so much. “ _ _Fuck__ ,” he groans.

Sometimes Ianto thinks Captain Jack Harkness is more trouble than all the aliens in Cardiff combined.

 

 

* * *

 

Ianto is pretty sure he’s lost yet another job, but in his defense, __anyone__ could have made that mistake. Well, anyone with a working knowledge of aliens, and that stupid poodle __was__ acting suspicious. It’s a damn shame though; the kennel had reminded him of Torchwood One, which sounds unkind except that there’s a great deal in common between delivering kibble to a bunch of trapped and irritable animals and making coffee for his co-workers. Former co-workers. __Late__ co-workers. Not that supplying refreshments was part of his job description, of course; it was more in the line of self-preservation. Though the rest of Torchwood had treated them like a bunch of glorified librarians, they spent every day poring over records- with pictures- of everything Torchwood had ever done, and it wasn’t pleasant reading. Some things were best faced when caffeinated and fortified with sugar.

The problem is that he now has to tell his sister he’s lost the job her friend gave him, and it may be worse than facing an alien. And how the hell is he going to explain it? She still thinks he’s recovering from the ‘terrorist attack’ on Canary Wharf and thinks aliens are a ridiculous conspiracy theory. Which means he somehow has to explain without using the phrase ‘I thought it was a Canix.”

It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday, and he’s come to Rhiannon’s at this time specifically because her children will be home, but her husband will not. It’s a calculated move. She’s less likely to shout obscenities with David and Mica around, and with Johnny at work, she won’t be able to pawn them off on him so she can give Ianto the dressing down he knows is coming.

He’s also brought the kids a gift: a football that lights up and makes whooping noises when kicked. With any luck, his sister will be too distracted to press him to talk about his __feelings__.

When Rhi answers the door with her hand on her hip and her eyebrow raised (family trait), Ianto knows she’s already heard from Susan. Before she can start, he pushes his way in and shouts, “David! Mica! I brought you something!”

The children rush down the stairs and attach themselves to his legs. One of the benefits of coming home to Cardiff is that he’s gotten to know his niece and nephew. Sure, his sister is a meddling cow, but she’s __family__ and he loves her. Her husband is all right, too, not that Ianto will ever admit that to anyone. He lost touch while he was in London, trying to pretend to be more than a kid from a council estate, but he’s realized now that his history is a part of him. It’s what makes him adaptable and resilient.

But not so resilient that his sister doesn’t terrify him when she’s in a temper. She glares at him when the kids start kicking the ball around, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him into the kitchen. He starts to make coffee so he’ll have an excuse not to look her in the eye.

“Susan called,” she starts, sounding deceptively calm. Ianto doesn’t say anything, not wanting to incriminate himself further this early in the conversation. “Says you beat up a dog.”

Ianto tinkers with the cups some more, waiting.

“Says you wrestled it to the ground, then shaved it, shouting something about clan markings. She had to explain to the owners why their show poodle was naked and cowering.”

Ianto finishes making coffee and sets Rhiannon’s on the counter next to her. She stares at him expectantly. “It was lunging at me. And it was already half-shaved anyway, in that stupid poodle cut.”

“It was playing! Bloody hell, Ianto, she only hired you because I begged her! I swore you were a hard worker, that you’d changed since you were that brat who set her shrubbery on fire. Then you do this. Do you know how embarrassing it was for me?”

He’s desperate to deflect, and without thinking, he shouts, “PTSD!” As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he realizes his mistake. Now he’s done it, given Rhi an opening to meddle. And it’s worse than he can imagine.

Quick as lightning, his sister is saying, “You should consider seeing a therapist. Joanne Kearny, you remember her, one year older than me? She’s got a practice, and she’s single.” Ianto cringes, and Rhiannon turns red. “Not that that matters, of course, it’s too soon, not even three months, but you can’t be alone forever!”

__This can’t be happening__ , Ianto thinks, putting his head down on the table and clenching his fists. “I don’t need therapy,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m __fine__.”

“You assaulted a poodle!”

“That doesn’t mean I should start shagging your therapist friend!”

She looks suitably chastened, and Ianto thinks he’s in the clear until she says, “Not dating, then, but go out on the pull. You need desperately to get laid. Just use a condom; you can get them free at the clinic.”

“Oh god, Rhi, I am __not__ taking prophylactic advice from my sister. And it’s not about the cost of condoms, I don’t __want__ to get laid!” Except that’s a lie and he knows it. He’s had a number of increasingly erotic dreams about Captain Harkness, waking up confused and hard and angry. He doesn’t __want__ the man invading his sleep. He doesn’t __like__ men, not like that. The problem is that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep his mind off Jack. He can’t tell his sister that, though. “Can we just… pretend we’re a normal family, and you can offer me tea and sympathy, or something?”

David and Mica are still kicking the ball around in the other room. The constant whooping is the only reason they haven’t heard the argument in the kitchen. “Only we’re not a normal family, are we? Dad died, that was it, you were off. You couldn't wait. I’m glad you’re home, that you visit now, but you never tell me anything these days. Like I did something wrong. I didn't, did I?”

Suddenly, Ianto feels terrible about avoiding his sister. She’s pushy and abrasive, but she’s the only family he has left, and she __cares__. “It’s difficult. Talking about it. About what happened, about Lisa. I’d have married her, you know. Settled down, bought a house, had a family. Now she’s gone.” Tears prick his eyes. “You have all those things. It’s hard to watch sometimes.” The electronic noise and flashing from the ball is still coming from the other room, and Mica and David are now squabbling. “Only my children would be quiet and well-behaved.”

Rhiannon punches him on the arm so hard he knows he’ll have a bruise, though with all his injuries lately, it hardly matters. “Your kids would be monsters, just like you,” Rhi responds, “always taking risks, going on adventures. That’s why you went to London, isn’t it? For the excitement? Cardiff was never enough for you. I can’t see you settling down, not really. You might have a family, but you’ll never be boring like me.”

Ianto thinks his sister is uncommonly insightful, and maybe that’s why he avoids her. She always hears the things he doesn’t say. It’s disconcerting. Maybe she’s right. Maybe a normal life has never been in the cards for him, not even with Lisa. They finish their coffee while David and Mica create chaos in the other room. His sister steers conversation to trivial topics. While she natters on about the weather, Johnny’s job, and the children’s antics, Ianto lets his mind drift to Torchwood. He never feels as alive as he does when he’s chasing something. He could do that every day, and his life would never be boring. He’d have people he could talk to about Canary Wharf. And, his treacherous mind reminds him, there’d be Jack.

At some point he’ll have to confront his feelings about Jack. It’s inevitable.


	4. Chapter 4

Ianto wouldn't have given the man at his till a second thought, except for the tail. He's seen all manner of odd purchases since taking on his job at the DIY store, and for the most part he doesn't even pay attention anymore. He hadn't been looking for the tail, either, but since his disconcerting kiss with Jack Harkness, he's been questioning his sexuality a bit lately, and has been checking out men's arses. For the most part they do nothing for him (unless he thinks about the arse attached to the man causing this situation in the first place), but it does mean he's in a position to notice when one of the arses going through his till is attached to a tail.

It's not that he wants to stereotype, but in Ianto's experience, humans generally don't have tails, and non-humans are generally up to no good. And when he thinks back to what was purchased, he begins to worry. Yes, of course there could be a perfectly innocent reason to purchase a saw, duct ties, plastic sheeting, and a shovel, but Ianto can't think of one right now, and perhaps he'd better find out what's going on before anyone gets hurt.

He locks his cash drawer, calls, "Smoke break!" out to the shift manager, and takes off before they can remind him that it's not his scheduled break time or remember that he doesn't smoke. He's probably lost another job, but he's grown so used to it that he no longer carries anything with him that he'll mind leaving behind. Besides, this is retail. It's soul-killingly dull, and a good chase is exactly what Ianto needs.

Ianto reaches his little Audi just in time to see the alien pull out of the lot. Fortunately, he knows these streets well and has gained quite a bit of experience following at a distance. And anyway, his effort is aided considerably by the fact that the other driver is following all traffic laws and signaling every turn. How odd. His recent experience also leaves him unsurprised when the car is parked near Bute Park and the alien hefts his purchases out of the boot and carries them to a secluded spot. He spreads the plastic sheeting meticulously and sets the duct ties within easy reach. As Ianto watches, the alien uses the saw to cut a small square in the ground and pry it carefully out all in one piece. He sets it on the sheeting next to him, then proceeds to carefully dig in the soil, depositing each shovelful in a neat pile next to the square of earth.

Ianto has no idea what he's doing, and he's about to go find out when he sees Captain Harkness approach the man. Torchwood's got this covered, then. He's already turning away when he sees Toshiko Sato, Jack's technical specialist, carrying a box toward the pair with a grin on her face. Ianto stays to watch, moving as close as he can without being seen, hoping to hear what they are saying.

"Will it work?" the alien asks.

Sato snorts. "Of course it will. All I need is a physical access point they can't find."

"And I am happy to oblige," he says with a slight bow. "The Captain has been good to me through the years; a bit of civil vandalism is nothing between friends."

The saw disappears into the hole again, then the alien is lifting a neat square of metal, and Sato leans over the edge with a widget from the box she was carrying. Harkness hands her various tools, until she pushes herself back up, dusting her hands on her jeans and looking pleased with herself.

"There. Undetectable, and it gives us complete access to all municipal services and communications."

The alien leans over the edge of the hole, and Harkness passes the metal piece, then the duct ties down to him. They fill in the dirt and replace the square of earth. Once the sheeting is folded up, the area looks undisturbed. Tosh shakes the alien's hand, then Captain Harkness is pulling him in to an embrace. They kiss. Ianto feels his cheeks heat; this is not a  _ _friendly__  peck. It's hard and deep and messy, and Ianto feels a twisting pain in his gut. It's the sort of kiss one gives a lover.

Ianto's read the file, it's not like Harkness's habits are unknown, but he hadn't expected to see  _ _evidence__ , nor be so affected by it. He's been thinking about Jack a lot lately, about the things he read and what they might mean to him. He's never fancied a man, but neither has he ever been against such things, at least in theory. He never found them repulsive, just uninteresting. Until now. And it's not just Jack's looks that draw him; he's seen the man in action, risking himself to save others. He's read mission reports. He's watched him interact with his team, and knows that Jack is witty, protective, and honorable. But Jack's not  _ _his__ , damn it, and Ianto has made that very clear, so why should a snog bother him so? Ianto intends to go back to his flat and have a good think about it. It's not like he has a job to go back to, after all.

Problem is, once he's home things don't make any more sense, so Ianto initiates the tried-and-true Welsh method: alcohol. After one glass of Scotch, he's angry with himself for his attraction to Jack. After two, he's turned his ire toward Jack for leading him on (or so he tells himself.) Three drinks in, he's moved on to picturing them together. With the blurring of alcohol, it no longer matters that Ianto has never been attracted to a man until now. He imagines Jack's hands on him, the scent, the feel of his mouth against that spot on Ianto's neck that drives him wild. Ianto remembers the feel of Jack under him that night in the warehouse, strong and hard, their groins pressed together. What would it be like to continue? To lie together like that without the barrier of clothing or excuse of a plummeting dinosaur? What would Jack's bedroom whispers sound like? How would his skin taste? In his Scotch induced haze, Ianto wants to know.

A fourth pour and he's back to anger. His arousal hasn't subsided, but he's furious with Jack for invading his thoughts. His erotic imaginings turn harsh. He wants to push the other man hard against a wall and force his head back with his hand tangled in that infuriating flop of hair. Wants to suck up a mark just beneath his jaw to claim Jack as Ianto resents being invisibly claimed. To grind against him, tongues tangled in a filthy kiss, breathing hard into each other's mouth. He imagines gasps and moans and pleading. Jack would fight him, he knows; that's part of the appeal. They'd tumble to the ground, hands tugging at clothing, teeth tugging at skin. It would be hard and fast and dirty and perfect. Jack would forget everyone but Ianto.

He wakes the next morning aching as if he'd spent the night wrestling Weevils. His head is throbbing, and his clothing is disconcertingly sticky. With the memory of his drunken fantasies playing in his mind's eye, he groans as he strips to shower.

This has to stop. It's driving him insane.

The moment Ianto walks into his flat, he knows he's not alone. It's not Jack, he'd have recognized the scent of his aftershave. He toes his shoes off as usual, leaving his jacket on to hide the handgun he's been carrying since Jack gave it to him.

He's been avoiding Jack and Torchwood as much as possible, even going as far as ignoring Rift trash when he deems it to be under control or harmless. He's only lost one job since then, driving a cargo van for Harwood's. It hadn't even been alien related, quite… it's just that he's gotten used to driving a certain way- reckless, they called it- and it was mutually agreed upon that the job was a poor fit. Since then, he's settled in at the Wales Tourist Board and has managed to keep the job for an astonishing three weeks. The position has him back in suits, which might be a problem for some, but Ianto's always felt more comfortable maintaining a professional appearance. Besides, the coat covers the gun. Just in case.

So he leaves the coat on, walking slowly to the center of the room with his hands open at his sides. He's taking a chance here, but it's far more likely to be someone who wants to speak to him than someone who wants to hurt him.

"All right then, you may as well come out," he announces. A heavily armed figure in black steps out from behind his bedroom door. Even without the beret, he recognizes the uniform: UNIT, and if they wanted him dead he already would be, would never have seen it coming. But this is a soldier, and they wouldn't have sent someone to threaten him without an agenda, so there must be another. "You too," he says with a sigh, motioning with an open hand at the rest of the flat. "Whatever it is you want, you're not impressing me right now. Just come out, I'll make coffee, and we can sit and talk like adults."

There's a chuckle, and a woman, also in black, but with her sidearm still holstered, appears from the shadowy corner by the telly.

He recognizes her instantly. She was a part of the Canary Wharf cleanup detail, the one who kept insisting that each casualty, even those who had been converted, be treated with respect. She was also the one who coaxed him away from Lisa's ruined form and helped him to the command center, staying with him until he stopped shaking. He relaxes slightly and moves toward the kitchen, deciding to ignore the man with the assault rifle for the time being.

"Pleasure to see you again, Captain Vargas. Rather unexpected," says Ianto, hoping his dry tone hides his nervousness. There are a number of reasons for UNIT to visit him, none of them good. He's a little more at ease when he sees her nod acknowledgement, though she says nothing. He soothes himself with his coffee routine, preparing three cups from freshly ground beans in the steel cafetiere he bought after throwing the glass one against the wall while unpacking (anger stage). He sets out sugar and cream, then slides one mug to the captain, and gestures for the soldier to take the other.

The soldier hesitates. It's clear that he wants to take the cup, but he also doesn't want to lower his weapon near a potential threat. Ianto rolls his eyes. "Oh come now, I'm a  _ _filing clerk__. What do you think I'm going to do, alphabetize you?"

When he sees his commanding officer nod, he thumbs the safety on and lets the rifle hang across his body from its sling. He reaches gratefully for his mug, fixing it with cream and sugar. Ianto has already put a touch of cream in his own, and is amused to note that the Captain Vargas takes hers black, but with enough sugar to make it almost syrupy.

He herds his guests to the dinette, and they all sit around the small table like a demented tea party.

"So," he begins, "Not a social call, I take it?"

"Mr. Jones, UNIT needs your help," the captain says without preamble. Ianto prefers it that way. Despite the ritual of coffee, he really has no patience these days.

"No," Ianto responds blandly. "I mean, if you're actually offering me a choice here, no."

A brief smirk, quickly concealed, crosses Vargas's face. "Harkness and his team are dangerous. Yvonne Hartman kept him under control just barely. With her gone, there's nothing to stop him from overstepping his authority. We need you. He'll never take a transfer from UNIT, but you can probably get in if you try."

Ianto  _ _can__  get in without trying, if he wants to. Jack made that perfectly clear, but if he was wary of joining Torchwood Three before, he's completely put off now. If he takes the job, UNIT will never let him go, and he has no intention of getting caught up in interdepartmental politics. Plus, with the uncertainty he's been feeling about Jack, he can't bear to go in under false pretenses. A betrayal like that would poison any future they might have, and while Ianto still isn't sure what he wants, he's not one to limit his options.

He tells Captain Vargas. She argues- safety of the world and all that, but it sounds too much like  _ _For Queen and Country__  to do anything more than turn his stomach. She flatters him. Offers him money (does  _ _everyone__  forget the survivor benefits?), does everything but beg. He turns her down. Vargas asks if he's visited his family lately; he pretends it's just courtesy rather than veiled threat, asking after the other Canary Wharf survivors and talking a bit about his life in Cardiff to remind her what he's capable of. Back and forth, they argue, until Vargas suggests that Ianto would be safer under Torchwood's protection, and Ianto draws his gun from beneath his jacket. Caught with their mugs in their hands, Vargas and the soldier slosh coffee as they scramble for their own weapons, and it's a stand off. No one will shoot, Ianto knows. He has no interest in bringing down the wrath of UNIT, and they don't want to report that their target lured them into complacency with coffee. He politely asks them to leave, and they do, a sour look on her face, near blankness on his. They slam the door behind them. He sighs, sets the gun on the table, and washes out their coffee mugs. First Jack, now this. What next, he wonders?

It's been almost 4 months since Canary Wharf fell. Ianto is on his 9th job, and they're getting harder to find and longer between. No, technically he doesn't need to work, but now more than ever, it would be bad for him to have too much free time. Time he'd use to think about Jack, if his drunken imaginings and subsequent sober fantasies are anything to go by. He wants Jack, he can admit that now, but he doesn't want Torchwood. Except maybe the occasional Weevil chase, he supposes, to keep in shape. And some interesting items that come through the Rift. Perhaps some consulting work, then, to keep life interesting? He'll have to speak to Jack about it, some time when he thinks he has the self-control not to snog the man senseless.

Because if he stays in Cardiff, he knows he'll keep chasing things and losing jobs and pining. It's inevitable.


	5. Chapter 5

Ianto Jones is leaving Cardiff. He’s tired of fighting aliens and losing jobs, sick of random people showing up at his flat, and the weather sucks. Just the weather would be tolerable, but with the others? Yeah, Ianto is totally done with Cardiff. He told Rhiannon, he’s all packed- not that he unpacked much- and as soon as he tells Captain Harkness that he’s going to have to deal with his own damn problems again, Ianto is leaving. Not back to London; he’d like to have a quiet Christmas holiday someday. No, he’s found a sleepy little town in North Wales, where the climate may be just as bad, but at least he won’t have to worry about the Rift.

Ianto has spent all day trying to think of what to say to Jack, and by the time he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t owe the man an explanation, it’s late evening. He’ll just pop over to the Plass, tell him he’s leaving, then go. He walks purposefully toward the tourist center, certain that if he waits there long enough, someone from Torchwood will see him and come to investigate. Halfway there it occurs to him that this will be the last time he ever sees Jack Harkness, and maybe he should have taken a little more care with his appearance. The thought surprises him a little; why should he care how he looks? Still, a suit would be more respectful than his worn out jeans and jumper, and his hair is in disarray in the way it always gets when he goes too long without a haircut. Maybe he should come back tomorrow? He can’t believe he’s considering getting a haircut and dressing up to say goodbye, but he’s already turning around to leave when he sees her: Suzie Costello, there on the Plass with a gun pointed at some woman Ianto doesn’t recognize.

One last bit of help for Torchwood Cardiff, then? Ianto slides his sidearm from its holster, glad he’s taken to wearing it at all times since Jack gave it to him. He takes careful aim at the woman and waits to see how Costello will handle it. Is this woman an alien? Possessed? Infected? Out of her time? He doesn’t know and won’t act until he does. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but words drift to him on the light breeze. __Shit. Kill. Violent. Glove.__ Ianto sees Jack rise from the sidewalk in the same place he stood the morning Ianto watched him from the café. No one else appears to notice the bloody great gap, (how do they keep people from falling in?) and Jack is just a little blurry; the perception filter must be on the paving stone, not worn. Jack’s eyes are glued to Costello, he’s barely looking at the other woman at all. Is Costello the threat, then? While Ianto considers, Costello turns and shoots Jack. On instinct, Ianto swivels his aim and fires. Costello goes down in a heap, and the other woman screams. Ianto rushes over to her. She’s fallen to her knees and is whimpering, “I remember.”

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothes, taking her in his arms and rocking her gently. She’s not an alien, she’s Welsh through and through. Older than Ianto, but still young, and she’s clearly experiencing a Retcon break. “It’ll be all right,” he promises, hoping he isn’t lying. She sniffles. She’s shaking from fear, and he would be too if he weren’t so focused on containing the situation. Suddenly, she goes rigid in his arms, gasping as she peers over his shoulder. Ianto turns, and there’s Captain Jack Harkness, alive again and surveying the scene. Ianto has read the reports on Captain Harkness’s __special ability__ , but seeing it first hand is, well, unsettling. He promises himself plenty of time to process it. Later. Right now there’s work to do.

“Captain,” Ianto calls. Harkness’s eyes widen in shock when he sees Ianto. He shifts his gaze to Costello, checks her and, finding her dead, motions Ianto over. Ianto stands, helps the woman to her feet, and joins him.

“This you?” he asks, gesturing at his former teammate. Ianto nods. “Nice shot.” Ianto can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but there’s a tightness of pain in his voice, so it’s no surprise when Jack’s face crumples and he says, “If I’d only been paying __attention__ \- god, what a waste.”

Ianto wants more than anything to wrap his arms around the man and comfort him as he had the woman, but she’s watching them, so he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for other people’s choices,” he says, “And if you want to wallow in self pity, it will have to wait until after we’ve tidied this up. Come on, before anyone sees.” He knows his words are a bit harsh, but right now Jack needs to be the Captain. Grief can come later.

Jack reaches up and pats him on the hand. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

“You mean that?”

Ianto thinks about it. “We’ll talk later.”

Jack nods, then they’re too busy to discuss anything but what to do with the woman -Gwen Cooper is her name, and she’s with the Heddlu- while they maneuver Costello’s body into Torchwood’s base and down to the morgue. While Jack preps her for storage, Ianto cleans up what he can of the scene, mopping up blood from the Plass and disinfecting with bleach. Jack’s coat he spot treats with seltzer from the vintage soda syphon he finds near the crystal scotch decanter and glasses in the conference room. The coat will need to go to the dry cleaners, but he worked at one a few weeks back, and the guys there still owe him a favor and won’t ask questions. Cooper's clothes will have to go, too; she's in the scrubs he found for her after he helped her clean up.

Once the physical messes have been handled, Ianto tries to locate the ‘killed in the line’ paperwork he’s seen over and over in personnel files. It’s not in any of the obvious places- the cabinet in the main area, the file drawer in the big oak and glass desk in what he assumes is Jack’s office- no, Ianto finally finds them blank side out, taped together to form a larger piece, on which is a surprisingly good drawing of a blonde woman he remembers having seen somewhere.

The entire place is like that, full of things he almost recognizes. He can smell the old paper and ozone he knows from Torchwood One, but while the halls in Canary Wharf smelled of fresh paint, these have an under layer of mould. Some of the furniture is clearly requisitioned from the same stores, but other pieces are antiques or flat-pack junk. The technology is amazing, but pieces and wires trail everywhere. Alien artifacts clutter every flat surface next to dirty dishes. There’s the constant drip of water. Ianto crouches and ducks when he hears a screech, but it’s just the pterodactyl. She seems to be doing well, which pleases Ianto. He wonders if any of this will ever seem strange to him again, or is his definition of __normal__ will be forever skewed from everyone else’s. He gathers the forms he needs, carefully disassembling the drawing and photocopying the official side with a machine that is, amusingly, the same mundane model he used at Chandler and Bell Accounting. He reassembles the drawing, setting it on Jack’s desk, and fills out the forms as well as he can. When he’s done, he tucks them in a folder and carries them down to the main area, looking for the others.

He finds Gwen Cooper in the conference room still blank with shock. Tea, he thinks, but all he can find is an ancient espresso machine and some cheap grounds tucked behind a jar of instant. It will have to do until he can get some proper beans in here. Grateful for his time as a barista, Ianto adjusts the machine into working order before brewing two cups, adding the sugar he finds nearby and a generous pour of the non-dairy creamer that was in the mini-fridge next to a medical sample. Or maybe leftovers. It’s hardly ideal, but he has to do something to cut the bitterness, and caffeine is a desperate need. Jack will probably want some too, so Ianto brews a third cup and rummages around a bit until he finds some stale biscuits. He juggles the three mugs and the biscuits muttering to himself that he’ll have to get a proper tray, and it’s not until he sets everything on the conference table that he realizes that he’s making future plans that involve staying. It’s one more thing he puts off thinking about.

Jack comes in and sits down at the head of the table. Without thinking, Ianto sits in the chair to his immediate right and passes him a mug. Cooper, several seats over, has been sipping from hers and is starting to look more coherent. He wonders how she got caught up in this and what Jack will do with her now. As if answering Ianto’s unspoken question, Jack turns to Cooper. “Against my better judgment, I am sending you home with your memories intact. I think you realize that it’s imperative that you not mention this to anyone?”

Cooper nods.

“I’d like you to come back tomorrow. We’ll talk more then.”

They finish their coffee, saying nothing about the recent events as if by mutual agreement. Ianto offers to take Gwen Cooper home while Jack finishes up the reports. She follows him, silent and still shell-shocked. She doesn’t speak until Ianto gently asks her where she lives. Then the floodgates open. 

“What’s your name?” she asks. How odd, that he’s wiped blood from her face but never introduced himself. “You weren’t there last night,” she continues, “when Jack gave me the tour.”

“Ianto Jones. I don’t work for Torchwood. Not anymore.” He glances to the side. Cooper is biting her lip, looking confused.

“But you and Jack- I mean, the way you just… fell into place. You barely spoke, but it was like you could read each other’s mind.”

Ianto opens his mouth to argue, but looking back, he realizes that Jack never __asked__ him to do anything. He moved a corpse, cleaned a murder scene, compiled paperwork, and provided refreshments, all without request, thought, or hesitation. And looking back, he can see that he and Jack worked flawlessly together. Ianto doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t want to talk about it. __Really__ doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s met people like Gwen Cooper, who won’t let things go. Hell, he’s __related__ to one, and he knows that the best way is just to plow through it.

“I used to work for Torchwood in London, but I’d never seen the Cardiff base until now.”

Gwen doesn’t look as if she believes him. The interrogation continues, but there’s so much she wants to know that Ianto can’t answer. He doesn’t know what Jack will do about Gwen. He doesn’t know where Jack put Costello’s body. He has no idea what Gwen is supposed to tell her boyfriend (who, coincidently, was his boss back at the haulage job.)  And he sure as hell can’t guess how the police hadn’t known about Torchwood all along. Still, these questions are a good distraction from the things Ianto is happier not discussing. Until-

“You said you don’t work for Torchwood anymore, and that you’d never been there before. Is there another Torchwood?”

“London. Canary Wharf,” he answers curtly.

Her eyes go soft and full of pity. “Oh, sweetheart. The terrorist attack. I’m so sorry. Were you, you know, __there__? In the building when it happened, and not one of those people who called in with the trots that morning, like you always hear about?”

Is this really any of her fucking business? No, of course not, but he knows that won’t matter in the end. She won’t let it go until she knows. He fires off his words like an attack. “Not terrorists. Aliens. I survived the attack. My girlfriend died there.”

Now Gwen looks as if she’d hug him if he weren’t driving; Ianto thinks he might gag on her sympathy, but she means well. He begins to hope that maybe he’s finally silenced her.

“But,” she says quietly. There’s a long, awkward pause. “That was only a few months ago. What about you and Jack?”

“There. Is. No. Me. And. Jack,” he grits through teeth clenched so hard they might crack. That’s it. He’s done. He’s not saying another thing, or else he might have to reach across the car, open the passenger door, and shove Gwen Cooper out into the night. Her questions continue, of course, but he focuses on the drive, pretending he can’t hear her.

It’s a relief when he can finally let her off at her flat. He ignores her awkward offer of “If you ever want to talk,” but still waits politely until she enters the building before he drives away.

Dawn is just starting to blush when Ianto finally makes his way back to his own flat. The flat that- he reminds himself- he’s moving out of today. He groans, wondering if he can put the movers off a day without losing his deposit. He’s shattered, physically and emotionally. It’s finally starting to catch up to him that he’s killed someone. A human being. Someone whose name he knew. Yes, he’s had to kill aliens, but that was always in self-defense. While he had something to do, he could push it to the back of his mind, but he doesn’t have that luxury now. His hands start to shake and his breathing becomes tight and fast. He needs to get home, where he can have a panic attack in safety and comfort. __Hold it together__ , Ianto mutters to himself as he drives. __Just get home. Hold it together. Just get home.__ He repeats it like a mantra, like a prayer, clutching his steering wheel until he imagines the bones of his knuckles might split the skin.

Home. So close. Ianto is parking, still whispering to himself. He’s gnawing at his lip as he locks his car, digging his nails into his palms as he approaches the building. __Hold it together__. It’s not worse than the Cybermen, he tells himself; he can handle this. __Just get home.__ Except he suspects that’s a lie. It’s not __worse__ , no, but he was already half broken and he suspects this has finished the job.

Into his block of flats, up two flights of stairs. Almost there. He’s fumbling his keys when he sees him: Jack is sitting against Ianto’s door, his arms wrapped around his legs and his head resting on his knees. Ianto can’t help but go to him, though he stops short of embracing the man the way his instincts insist he should. He kneels in front of Jack, putting a hand on his cheek to raise his face. “Hey,” he says, “let’s get you inside.”

Ianto knows he’s back to using work to stave off the emotional tsunami he’s been fighting, but he’s been doing it for months with his various jobs, and it’s familiar and comforting. He bustles about in the kitchenette making coffee while Jack sits without a word on the sofa. When Ianto sets two mugs down on the small table, Jack whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Ianto sits on the other end of the sofa, and nothing else is said for a few minutes. They don’t look at each other, they just sit, sipping their coffee.

“She was my second in command. My protégé,” Jack says after a time with a tear slipping down his cheek.

“I’m sorry Jack,” he says softly, struggling not to scoot closer, to keep his hands to himself. “I should have aimed to disable. But she killed you, and I-“

“Did you know?” demands Jack.

“Know what?”

“That I’d come back. When Suzie killed me and you shot her, did you know?”

“I didn’t think about it at the time, but yes, I knew.” And he shot to kill anyway. Without hesitation, for Jack. Not to save Cooper, but because Costello had killed __Jack__. It drives home how much he’s come to care for the man, against his wishes and good sense. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying, what the hell happened out there?”

Jack scrubs his hands against his face. “Suzie had this alien glove. It could resurrect the dead. She got addicted and started murdering people. I should have seen it, but we’ve been so busy; the Rift is on an upswing, and 4 people is just not enough. I was thinking of recruiting Gwen.”

“Which puts you back at 4, with Costello d- __gone__.”

“I was sort of hoping…” Jack looks at him, then away. “Nevermind.”

“Do you think she’s a good fit, though? I mean, she seems nice enough, but you said she’s a police constable.”

“Yeah? So?”

Is this how Harkness hires people? Seat of his pants? Can he not see that the qualities that make a stellar police constable- close focus, curiosity, empathy, stubbornness- are a __terrible__ thing in a Torchwood employee, especially a field agent? If he hires her, Gwen Cooper will question every decision Jack makes. She’ll defy his orders, ignore protocol. She’ll never accept that there is sometimes no good solution. He tells Jack this.

“I was hoping she’d bring some humanity to the team.”

“Your team is human enough. Do you really doubt it?” Ianto’s not sure how or when it happened, but the gap has closed between him and Jack, and Jack’s hand is on his knee. Ianto puts his own hand on top. It feels good, warm and comforting.

“I suppose not. How are you doing? I hadn’t asked, but tonight must have been rough on you.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yup.” That’s really all there is to say. He twines his fingers with Jack’s.  Ianto still doesn’t know what this is, but right now he doesn’t care. In Jack’s company, he’s calm, even without anything to do. After a time, Jack’s fingers tighten on his. He turns to meet Jack’s gaze, tilting his head slightly, questioningly.

“Your things are all boxed,” Jack says, pointing out the obvious as if he’s only just noticed it.

Ianto nods. “I’m leaving Cardiff. Today. I’m going to a quiet town without any of this. I was only on the Plass to say goodbye”

“Please don’t. Not now, not when I need you. Stay? For a while at least, until we get back on our feet?”

Ianto almost can’t resist Jack’s pleading eyes. Almost. “I can’t. I’ve already broken my lease and scheduled movers.”

“Stay,” Jack repeats softly, lifting his hand to caress Ianto’s cheek. There have been kisses between them, two of them, but the gesture is startlingly intimate. There’s longing in Jack’s eyes, not just lust. Ianto’s been thinking about this __thing__ between them all wrong; it’s not about what happens between two men, it’s what happens between two hearts, and his is beating fast. He cups Jack’s hand in his, turns to kiss his palm. It feels __right__. Sliding his free hand behind Jack’s neck, Ianto pulls the other man close, their lips together. Jack sighs, breath soft against Ianto’s mouth.

It’s nothing like he expected, kissing Jack like this. Jack’s lips are soft, warm, and firm. That, yes, he was prepared for that. What knocks his world off kilter is the __tenderness__. Like this kiss is a secret they share, fragile and precious. With a sudden sense of surety, Ianto knows he can’t give this up. He shifts to face Jack properly and teases hip upper lip with his tongue. Jack groans and opens to him; the kiss deepens, becomes a desperate outpouring of all the things they can’t say. __I’m sorry__ and __I’m scared__ , __stay with me__ , and __I want you__. Ianto tastes the salt of tears, but he’s uncertain whose they are. Jack pulls him down, they lie on the couch, kissing, touching. They’re both aroused, Ianto can feel it, but that can wait. Right now that’s not what either of them needs. Together they let go of the pain, the fear. Though the morning sun is streaming through the window and bathing them in a golden light, they fall asleep, exhausted.

Ianto wakes to pounding on the door. He’s on the couch nestled against Jack with the other man’s arms wrapped protectively around him, and he’s more comfortable than he can remember being in a very long time. He doesn’t want to get up. In fact, he thinks maybe he doesn’t want to move from this spot ever. The pounding stops, and a moment later, his mobile rings where he’s left it on the counter. Ianto ignores that too.

Eventually, he knows, Jack will wake and they’ll shift from the couch and have to face the aftermath of Costello’s betrayal and Ianto’s actions, but they’ll do it together. Ianto thinks he might be able to manage that, with Jack by his side, maybe holding him while he weeps and shakes. And he’ll call the movers to cancel and ask his landlord if he can stay, and take the job at Torchwood Three. He’s looking forward to meeting Sato and Harper properly, and even if Cooper ends up with them, he thinks he won’t mind. He’ll accept Jack’s __other__ offer too, see where this thing between them goes. He’s choosing excitement over safety, just as Rhiannon always accuses him of doing. He’ll chase aliens, file reports, clean messes, make coffee, and save the world. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll do it all with the love of a man who’s lived lifetimes and seen amazing things and still thinks Ianto is worth his time. He can’t imagine why he’s spent months running from this, but Ianto has finally accepted that he’s been falling toward Jack since the moment they met. It was always going to end up like this, wrapped in each other’s arms. It was inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it then. Isn't it funny how a little bitty idea can just take off, dragging you along behind it? As many of you know, my beta Gmariam is awesome beyond imagination.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another take on the scene we've al watched/read a million times. This story is complete at 5 chapters, updates will happen fairly regularly. Many thanks to GMariam, and to all the readers who make it worth writing.


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